The Old Sun
by M.A. Federico
Summary: As the Great Skirmish comes to a close, events will transpire formed from a rising enemey that was once thought defeated eons that will determine Azeroth's fate forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

There were three riders beside Cavalry Sergeant Valorcall, head of all the cavalry of the remnants of Stromgarde, as he did his daily patrol for those of the Horde that walked the main road that was once dominated by the people of his kin.

At his rear was Guy De Sermonte. His father served Stromgarde's cavalry, and thus, as tradition states it, he too must join the cavalry of Stromgarde. And Guy is as traditional as one of Stromgarde can be – he does his best to give himself a suitable physical appearance, and shines his plate armor on a daily basis so he may shine like the sunlight over the water. He speaks highly to his lords and those of higher superiority, and speaks low and dirty to those beneath his boot, as he puts it.

To Valorcall's left was his brother, both in arms and blood, Valdric. Valdric ever since he was born has remained extremely close and loyal to his older and higher-in-command sibling. And Valorcall to him, even though he is not one to listen to anyone's, even his own brother's, suggestion for a battle plan, which was probably the main reason why a spear went through Valdric's chest in an ambush two years prior. Despite that setback, Valdric has remained loyal to his brother, if not more loyal, considering Valorcall dragged his brother's pierced body onto his horse, under heavy fire from arrow and bullets, and rode of to Stromgarde to have his brother mended.

At Valorcall's right was the most important man in the group, even more so than the Cavalry Sergeant, the Lord of the Horse, and entitled Keeper of the Honorable Truth, Valorcall himself. Valignar Trollbane, distant nephew of Thoras Trollbane, barely a fourth of royal blood in his body. Thoras' son, Galen, ordered that all those that even _hint_ of being descended from Lord Ignaeus must be protected at all costs in battle.

Valorcall wasn't exactly pleased when his Lord stated this, considering he will have to protect the son of his father's foe. Valignar's father, Sir Thrim, gained the title of "Great Hero of the Strom" over Valorcall's father, and the two have had a little war ever since. Those closets to Valignar's father and those to Valorcall's would fight skirmishes in the streets like the gangs of Alterac. Thoras, furiated by their meager rivalries and disagreements, ordered that if they fought again – public or otherwise – those that fought and those related to them would be hanged. But the two families's still had a feud against one another, and many saw Galen's move as one that could bring only disaster.

But, perhaps Galen had a reason for the union. It is not exactly morale-rising to know two families hate each other like they hate the Horde, and perhaps Galen saw that war would unite the Trollbanes and the Valorcalls.

Of course, the two families have a better chance of mating with a Gnome than getting along with one and another.

"You would do good to stay back, Master Trollbane" mocked Valdric as their steeds approached a river laying beneath the protective gaze of a waterfall "Lest water will splash onto your face and scar your good features!" Guy only sighed at the remark, and Valorcall gave a scowl at his younger brother. When the patrollers got off their steeds so they may be allowed to drink, Valorcall pulled Valdric close to him and whispered him a warning.

"We will not create more strife than there is already among us, brother. I detest those of Thrim's line as much as you, but these are dishonorable times, little brother. War is on the sea, but I fear you will bring it to Stromgarde's beaches."

"You wish for peace with Thrim's kin? After how he humiliated father, who died for Stromgarde? I have stayed by you for many years, through great perils, many of which have been of your doing, and I never argued against your judgment." Valdric bit his lip then, trying to hold back his tears. He put his head down, as if in shame, and snorted. He quickly gave a final stare to his brother, asking if war has made him made, unreasonable, cold to his kin and allies with his enemies.

"I do what I must, brother."

Guy only sighed in embarrassment as he shined his helmet with his wet rag, and Valignar was simply adding some weights to his warhammer, ensuring that it remained heavy enough to kill an Orc with just a single swing. It is not as simple as it sounds however: add too much weight to one side, and it will be too light. Too much weight to the other and nothing less than an Ogre can lift it with grace, if such a retarded creature as an Ogre can be anything close to capable of grace.

"You are in hard times, Valignar" Guy remarked, keeping his blue eyes on his shining helmet. "Last of a great line, and riding and fighting with the enemies of your kin." Guy gave a quick glance to the young warrior when he asked how Valignar managed to keep breathing without having a dagger stick through his chest.

"Fear, Guy. Fear keeps them from striking me"

Guy only frowned in disappointment. "Fear is a fragile alliance. One that can quickly turn it's blade towards your throat."

"It hasn't yet" Valignar said with a cocky grin.

"Aye, but that can quickly change."

The conversation was quickly erupted by Valorcall, who looked very flustered, and full of anger. "Come, Lord Trollbane! We must be off before those from Hammerfall see us."

"Aye" agreed Valignar, "But to where? The Horde doesn't dare travel the western roads towards Stromgarde, in fear of our many patrols, and the hills are plagued with beasts and vermins, not to mention the Ogre tribes."

"There is talk of a deposit of steel south of Hammerfall. I wish to confirm it."

"But that can very well be too close to the Horde" interrupted Guy as he placed his gleaming helmet on his tired brow. "And I do not wish to be remembered for my foolishness."

"That much is true. But Stromgarde is low on steel, and Galen is getting desperate. If he hears of it, he will surely send all of Stromgarde towards battle with the inhabitants of the mine, and I'd rather have a casualty of" he stopped for a moment, choosing his words quickly. He remembers full well his brother's feelings towards Valignar, but Valorcall remembers even clearer his King's orders to keep all that have any royal blood in them at all alive. "Of…of…three, than a hundred, of which Galen cannot replace. He can replace a few cavalrymen."

Everyone nodded in agreement, including Valignar, but Valdric still had a face of anger stamped on his face. Valorcall clasped his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"We will have our honor, brother."


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

The vulture soared over the battlefield, eying with greed the huge amount of lifeless corpses, mutilated and grayed with age that littered the hills. Many blood elves died this day, it noted with a careful eye, but many more Scourge had breathed the last of its unlife.

The Blood Elf camp rested on the highest hills that over looked the battlefield, with the trees being they're only shield against the horrific odor of the rotting corpses. In the center of the camp was a tent with a lone flag bearing the mark of a scarlet dragon at it's entrance, obviously the mobile home of the army's leader, although it did not look any grander than it's neighboring tents.

Markanis Flamewind was the commander of this army, the Scarlet Dragon Legion, of which he inherited from his older brother. Markanis never was one to accept gift of any sort, even as a child, which made his acceptance of taking command of the Legion all the more stranger after his older brother was killed defending Silvermoon.

However, some wise men have said that there is a difference between gifts, and fate.

Sylvos Windrunner, brother of Sylvanas Windrunner, who now led the forces of the Windrunner House, was debating with Markanis on what their next course of action should be.

"We have won a battle here Markanis, of that there is no doubt, but our food supply have become so few that even the beasts refuse to eat it from our stocks. Our men are resorting to digging through horse dung in hopes of finding some undigested corn." Markanis turned from the battle map of the surrounding region mounted on his tent wall to face his fellow commander. The two elves decided long ago, when Grand Marshall Garithos still led the survivors of the shattered kingdoms, to not follow Prince Kael'Thas in his allegiance with the Naga. Instead, they combined their forces into one, and would rule them both together.

When word reached them that Garithos was to march with Sylvanas' forces to reclaim Lordareon, there was much debate between the two Blood Mages on their next course of action. Sylvos wanted to march to Lordareon, out of nothing but family ties. But Markanis knew that Sylvanas was not the same person she was in life, and would betray Garithos. They debated for two days, with little rest, but in the end Sylvos sided with Markanis.

That was the two Elves' greatest test in their own personal allegiance, but now their army of a thousand Blood Elves faced a grand test of it's own, that of physical nature. Their food supply was cut off from the east by a new clan of orcs that they had confronted, and barely defeated, a month before. The Saberscream Clan was led by an Agram Saberscream, who fought in all three wars and matched the tactical brilliance of Blackhand and Doomhammer.

This problem would have been solved by Dalaran, for much of it had been restored thanks two powerful guild known as the Shards of the Crown and the Defenders of Dalaran, and had more than enough food to sustain the Blood Elven army. However, Dalaran refused them entry, believing they used Demom magic, partially of which is true. The Spellbreakers among their ranks did indeed drink from the corrupted Sunwell, which was filled with demon magic by lesser demon lords after Arthas and Kel'thuzad left Silvermoon's scared gates, to power their counterspell abilities.

What added even more possible disaster to the situation was that the Forsaken may have very well felt their magic, and their armies from the east may very well be on their way.

"We need to abandon this campaign, Markanis. Our men will not survive another battle against the guardians of your prize, nevertheless the Forsaken."

"Can we abandon it, brother Sylvos? It is tearing us apart, more than our lack of food that you so seem to dread. If we retreat, we will get our food, I do not doubt that. But we won't get what we need most."

Sylvos gave a long sigh, closing his eyes tightly as if every breath took a year off his life. And this argument may very well be doing just that. "He won't come back, Markanis, no matter how much you and I would wish it. He abandoned us long ago."

"But those that serve him might come to us."

Sylvos rubbed his forehead, revealing that he did not wish to continue this argument any longer, wishing to finish it quickly. "There are as loyal to him as our warriors to you!" He put his hands on Markanis' sleek shoulders. "Markanis, you have led your men through places no man, elf or dwarf would dare. Troll infested forests, Strangle Thorn Vale where if either Alliance or Horde learned of our presence we would be dead now. And despite the impossible odds, under our…_your_ leadership, and tactical brilliance and mastership of using the landscape against them, our few thousand defeated a Scourge one of three thousand. Don't take advantage of their love for you Markanis. I plea with every drip of blood in my heart, don't."

"If I don't go, it will be a bigger sin towards my brothers than if I did. It's dangerous, yes. But we may get what we have dreamt for so long." Defeated, Sylvos raised his arms and walked for the entrance of the tent, but before he left, Markanis put his arm on Sylvos' right shoulder. "Will you follow me, Sylvos? I don't need a brother now. I need a soldier, a fellow dreamer."

"To whatever end?"

"To whatever end."

"Markanis, I promised you I would long ago. Why ask this now?"

"Because I must know, Sylvos. I cannot lead this vast army alone."

"To whatever end, Markanis. To even the Nine Hells, I will follow you."


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

_He was there again, the fields. A place he dreamt of, thought of, and longed for; a place of enlightenment, harmony; a place without war; or disputes, or corruption. A true paradise, if there ever was one._

_He smelled the aroma of the rose petals, felt the texture of the sunflower dancing with the petals and autumn leaves. _

_He saw the stone huts of the farmers laboring in their fields, but they didn't show a hint of strife or ache as they did so. They didn't show filth or mud on their features carved from stone. They looked as cleansed as the moment they would of left their mother's womb. _

_A sudden flash would envelop the countryside, and he would return to reality._

"Master Trollbane. We are here." Guy had shaken Valingar's shoulder to take him out of the daydream, and when he realized Valingar had returned from the world that was, he pointed to a seemingly empty mine. There was no sign of recent activity of any sort, no camp fires passed away by the autumn winds, no traces of humanoid footprints, no pickaxes discarded, not even a chest for carrying materials.

The mine wasn't even boarded up, if the former miners did decide to retreat in a hurry. There seemed to be no indication of any type of labor at all in these mines. But that didn't stop Valorcall – he refused to believe that there were no laborers within the mines. He was a zealot, Valingar decided then and there.

Valorcall released his blade from his sheath, allowing the sun's ray to release a sort of beauty onto his fellow cavalrymen. "Come brothers! There are beasts to slay, and let our Fathers guide us!"

"Brother!" shouted his brother, motioning his horse to move closer to Valorcall. "There are no signs of Horde here, as much as we all would love to bring our weapons through their vile forms."

"_I fear for Valorcall, Master Trollbane"_ conspired Guy in a whisper to Valingar's ear. Valingar only nodded grimly, for he came to that conclusion long ago only a few nights prior, when he heard Valorcall mutter things in his sleep. _"I have heard stories of what war can do a man's psyche, and I fear there may be another story to add to the mythology."_

"They _are_ here, brothers. Into the mines!" Valingar, Valdric and Guy raised their weapons – Valdric and Guy their swords, Valingar his precious war hammer – and commanded their steeds to follow.

But the steeds would not, for beasts have an ability to foresee things man cannot. It goes back to the Ancient War, when the beasts fled the areas of Kalimdor where the Burning Legion first entered, even though the Night Elves could not detect the Legion's presence.

The steeds bucked their riders off them, and ran into the hills, leaving their riders on the ground.

But the steeds' warning did not deter Valorcall. He rose up, his face showing clearly that of determination, a fact that showed clearly not neither man nor beast would deter his path that he had set in front of him, grabbed his sword from the ground, placed it over his broad shoulder, and walked towards the mine. The others did just as must, following their Lord of the Horse.

They would find the beginning of the mine to show more signs of labor than it's outside: the rock walls were slowly being burned away by the erosion of water dripping from the rocky-roof, splinters of wooden supports existed on the walls and ground, and what appeared to be numerical numbers of sorts were etched into the cavern walls.

"Perhaps you were right brother!" Valdric with a chuckle as he glided his left fingers along the cavern wall, enjoying the feel the markings brought to his finger tips. "There does seem to be some sign of past residence here. Brothers! Keep your weapons close at hand."

No sooner had Valdric said _hand_ had they heard what appeared to be a rock being thrown echo off the cavern walls. "Did you hear that?" Guy questioned, to make sure that it wasn't only him that heard it, as he looked around the cavern for any clues of the sound. The others kept silent, but they nodded silently in reply.

Valingar quickly crouched down, to try to make his armor make as little noise as possible, and the others quickly did the same. They took a right at a Y intersection, with the dripping water from the roof being their only form of communication of any sort.

They would take several more lefts, another right, and careful treading down a fragile set of spiraling wooden stairs before they would see another hint of any sort of laboring within the mines: pickaxes and stone hammers laid lazily about against a nearly beaten stone wall.

The Arathians merely looked at each other, Valorcall raised his right eyebrow, motioning that he was asking a question referring to the laid about tools, and Valingar merely pointed down the stone hall, suggesting they move forward. Valorcall refused at first, wanting to scan the room for any other possible clues, but when he saw there was none he led his fellow warriors down the hall towards whatever they could meet next.

But as they did so, Valingar could of have sworn he felt something cold slip past his back as his warhammer accidentally hit the wall. He shrugged it off, blaming it on the cold winds of the mine, and continued onward.

It would be another hour of trudging through the cold mine before they saw another clue of possible laborers within the mine: an old suit of armor, laid about in a lazy manner, the helmet on it's side, as well as the chest piece, and the iron shoulder pads on they're backs and in a diagonal fashion. Guy only sighed in shame.

"How could anyone even _think_ of leaving such a good pair of armor like that? It's absolutely despicable!" he complained in a whisper, and Valorcall told him to shut up, and Guy did. They took a left turn at the next intersection they met several minutes later, but found out that it was caved in. So, they retraced their latest steps (which wasn't a lot, concerning it took them only a minute to go down the passage) and took the right passage, which eventually led them towards a flight of stairs going up towards a wooden door formed in the cavern wall. It had a few markings on it, in the form of ancient numerals.

It was something all Arathian children were taught at an early age, being the first number system for all of mankind after all, and they four Cavalrymen were able to read it quite easily.

13.

"What in the Light's name is the reason for them putting that there?" asked Valdric in a light whisper.

"The question isn't why, Valdric, but _who_" Valingar corrected quickly. Valdric only gave him an angry glare, which Valorcall quickly shot back.

"Let's keep going. Come on!" That didn't help the feeling in Guy's gut, however. As well as being very traditional, he was also superstitious on a grand scale. And everyone knows (or will know) that thirteen is the unlucky number, for reasons unknown.

Valorcall was the first one up the stairs and the first one to go through the door. The passageway went into a curve to the left, and there was an abundant source of light coming from that direction. Curious, Valorcall and the others went down into that direction, although Guy intentionally positioned himself in the back of the group.

What the found was a large disappointment: merely a torch, although decorated heavily and formed of the finest wood, glowed with its blue fire. Valorcall, and Valingar spat in disappointment, and Guy kept a constant state of alertness.

"Unbelievable" Valorcall swore when he saw there were no other passageways leading further into the mine. "Three hours of searching for naught!"

"Look on the good side, brother!" Valdric remarked as he put his arm on his brother's shoulder. "There should me more than enough ore to sustain Stromgarde for a year, and more I'm sure if the laborers discover more to this mine."

"But I was so certain there were residents here!" Valorcall whined as he took a stare at his brother.

"Let us move quickly then, Lord of the Horse." Guy commanded in an anxious voice as he stepped towards his commander. "The sooner we return to Galen, the sooner Stromgarde will have her metal."

Valorcall nodded, persuaded by Guy. "I agree, Guy. Let us head home. As much as I wanted to bash in an orc's skull, I am getting tired of the air in here. I would love a good bed right about now." The others cracked a hearty chuckle at that, and their Commander led them out of the mine.

When the orange sun of the Arathi Highlands shined upon their brows covered in mine dirt and soil, Guy took off his heavy helmet, smiling and laughing, realizing how much he had missed the sun's rays. The others took off their helmet as well, equally happy to feel the sun's rays, and gave a hearty grin. Valingar even more so, when he discovered their steeds were waiting for them by the hill from which they had retreated from several hours ago.

"Come Sir Trollbane, brother and Sir Guy! Let us inform Galen of the good news, and give a great greeting to a warm bed!" The others clapped at that statement, and they ran for their steeds, jumped on, and rode off towards the main road.


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

It was two days after the apparently misled adventure in the mines when the patrol reached the nearly reclaimed Stromgarde, and even then it was nearly going to be three days after the events in the mine.

When one of Galen's servants awoke from his much wanted (and needed) slumber, he was quick to growl and curse at the fool (or at least, that's what Galen saw the servant as).The servant quick brought forth his apologies for waking his King, bowed, and reasoned that a patrol led under a Lord of the Horse, who went by the name of Valorcall, had just arrived at the city gates with news of a mine richer in nearly every type of metal available, and with no occupants or laborers to battle it over.

Galen's attitude instantly went from minor rage to gladness, comparable to a child receiving a gift, when the words reached his ears. He commanded that in an obvious yell of excitement and glee that a robe be brought to him this instant, and the servant was quick to oblige, not wanting to see Galen's anger-stained face again.

Galen came down the ruined courtyard, which was retaken from the Syndicate in a great skirmish in the streets two months prior, and has been the benchmark in Stromgarde being close to its former glory under Galen's father Thoras, despite the fact that they did not have the resources (or the time…) to reconstruct the courtyard., and greeted the patrollers (Valorcall in particular) with open arms and a hug that could be comparable to a feral bear.

"Welcome, welcome!" he hollered, with a notable yawn between the two welcome's. "I am blessed to know that those that discovered such a fine treasure as this mine comes without a single scratch or burn!" The patrollers looked at each other with raised eyebrows, confused as to how their King knew they had no casualties – there are thousands of patrols going throughout the streets, and they were certain that the servant that ran up the courtyard stairs into Galen's quarters did not know as well. They shrugged it off, not really making a difference.

Galen wiped some spit from his lips midway through his second welcome and treasure, and between the blood-shot eyes and the circles under his eyes, the patrollers began to realize more and more that their King was exhausted, and should get to bed ASAP. But they didn't speak of it (or at least to him), for they remembered that Galen, much like his father, was quicker to temper than a mother bear protecting her cub.

"On behalf of my fellows, good King, I thank you for the welcome and thanks." Valorcall did his best (and his best would exceed one's expectations) to stay firm and motionless, no matter how tired and exhausted he was. And with the fact that he didn't move _period_, it's easy to say that he could be a statue if he wished (or asked).

"I must admit, Sir, uh…" Galen paused then, rubbing his chin realizing he had forgotten the Patrol Leader's name.

"Valorcall, My King."

Valorcall coughed then, to put act as a connection between his greeting and learning Valorcall's name. "I must admit, Valorcall, after we reclaimed the Courtyard from the cursed Syndicate" he paused, and spat at the rough-stone ground in disgust of the old traitors from Alterac "I was in fear that we would not be able to continue our war effort, for as you know – or should know – we lost as twice weapons as we did soldiers. And our iron and metal deposits were running low…dangerously low. But you and you're brave patrolmen have returned a light back into my heart! There is must be some type of reward I can offer…" he began rubbing his chin, and walking off a bit, thinking of what to offer Valorcall.

"My King, there -" but he got interrupted by Galen.

"I know!" the King said as he rushed back towards the Patrol Leader. "I will have a feast honored in your name and leadership within a week's time!" He walked off towards his quarters again, happy as a child on Christmas.

"My King, my heart could not hold the honor!"

"Nonsense!" he chuckled.

And that was the end of it.

To be blunt, giving the task of gathering enough food, drinks and entertainment for the thousand residents of Stromgarde wasn't just bold…nor was it ambitious.

It was crazy. Lucky for Galen, Stromgarde has been known for having a few loose screws.

And if that wasn't the case, well, the people of Stromgarde might of rebelled against him just for this enormous undertaking!

Lucky for Galen.

In a week's time, the soldiers and peasants pressed enough grapes into vine, chopped up and divided enough beasts, collected enough soothing vegetation and collected enough wood for bonfires to please five thousand guests!

And Stromgarde only had a thousand! Guess they really wanted to get drunk.

When the doors opened wide enough, and when the feast began, the eager crowd that stood outside the gates of the King's mead hall rushed in there like a giant horde, ripping part every chicken on every platter, drinking themselves drunk from every ale casket that you could lay your eye on, and chewed enough vegetation to numb an elephant.

Easy to see why they wanted to get so much extra supplies for the feast! They ate and drank like a bunch of baboons missing his tail!

Without a doubt one of Valingar's most memorable (if not THE most memorable) moments of the feast was when he convinced a group of drunken drunks (because there was no other word that could describe their loathsome state of mind more) to lift Guy off his feat while he was in the middle of wooing a pretty lass (both of which were drunker than a horse) carry him halfway across the hall, Guy kicking and screaming all the while, and throw him into a small pool where people were bobbing for apples.

"I'll" he hiccupped "get ye" and again "for" another hiccup "this" once again, another hiccup "Valingar, I swere on me" a record: four words before he hiccupped "ma's garve, I am." And he hiccupped one last time before being knocked out by a fat woman that was thrown into the pool and Valingar didn't help the poor man! He just took the chance to sneak out of the Hall so that he could visit a good, but old, friend.

Two slides under pig platters, three (and a half) body rolls to avoid bumping into a waiter, and a collision that resulted in a giant body up that fell like a bunch of dominoes later, Valingar managed to get onto the open streets.

Valignar never was one for directions of any sort in any city whatsoever, even if he had a detailed map and detailed directions. He trusted on his good old noggin to remember the features on where his destination was, and the twists and turns of the streets leading to his destination (and his noggin isn't at all that good with remembering things either).

Of course, the length of time it took Valignar to find the street varied from a few minutes to a whole day! Fortunately for Valignar (or sheer luck…) he found his friend's home soon enough.

Hid friend was one the porch, on a rocking chair starring into the stars sleepily, just like what they did when they were wee little things.

She turned to him as he strolled down the streets towards her house. "I was beginning to wonder when you would come, My Lord" she said with a sly smile as some of her black curls covered her left eye.

"I've told you a million times –"

"And one"

"Whatever – not to call me that Marilda" he said with a chuckle as he stepped up a torch and took his seat in a rocking chair next to hers. "Just, your Great Lord of the King of the Majestic Kingdom of Stromgarde" he mocked with a wide grin.

"Of course" she said long, with obvious sarcasm. "Great Lord of the…oh the Gods, I can't even say it"

"Heh, you always had a short memory sister." In reality, Valingar and Marilda weren't related by blood, but since they were two peas in a pod, as some people said, they might as well have been.

"What short memory?"

"Like how you're mother would have a fit now if she knew you were staying up this late when they are a horde of drunks trotting on the streets."

"Yeah, I guess she would have a fit." They remained silent for a moment, because Valingar had mistakenly rubbed a touchy subject

"How _is_ your mother?"

Marilda sighed a little. "Sick as usual." She paused for a little while, tapping her foot like she always did when she talked of her mother. "But Father Siris says she may live another six months."

"That's good. How's your father then?"

"Hmm?"

"Your father" Valignar said with a little enthusiasm. Does he still smoke the old pipe? Or has he kicked the bucket."

Marilda nodded her head, defying Valingar's latter guess. "He' still complaining how he can't keep his daughter out of men's beds so she can keep her ma breathing."

"You know I would help if I had the resources."

"I never doubted you wouldn't."

"I know, I know. It's just…bah." He stopped then, and rubbed his brow. "Evreyone seems so helpless now. Like there's some current washing us away."

"You and me?" she raised her eyebrow, confused.

"No. Everyone is separated – us from Azeroth, Dwarves from us, Elf from man. We're all splitting."

"Don't worry yourself, Valignar. Stromgarde will get through."

He turned his head to his old sister. "At what cost?"

Marilda didn't want to talk about it any longer. "I don't know, and that will be the end of it."

"Maybe."

"What do you think will happen, old friend?" she asked, hoping his answer will silence this discussion.

"Hell". A few hours would past, and they would talk of happier times during that timeframe. But eventually Valignar would say his goodbyes, and they would hug, and Valignar would leave for his quarters and Marilda for her bed.

In a week's time, Valignar will go through hell, a strange exchange from the happiness of the prior week.


End file.
